Nothing Special
by Iris1
Summary: Short, Waffy little first season story about Usagi from Mamoru's perspective. (^__^)


Konnichiwa, minna-san. Iris-san desu. ( ^_^ )   
Anyway, this is a S&S ( short and sweet ) fanfic  
which I hope you'll enjoy. All and any positive   
feedback or helpful criticism would be more than   
greatly appreciated at kanzaki_yukiko@yahoo.com.  
All flames, however, will be sent to my   
imaginary chibi-Tasuki.   
  
:P Sore dewa!   
____________________________________________  
  
Disclaimer: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon   
belongs to Naoko-sama and filthy  
rich companies that rake a   
living off dirt-poor fans like  
yours truly. (* _ * )   
____________________________________________  
  
Nothing Special  
by Iris  
kanzaki_yukiko@yahoo.com  
____________________________________________  
  
  
There's nothing special about her size -  
small and petite, barely reaching five feet.  
Tiny, insignificant little pipsqueak : she   
would vanish standing behind almost anybody.   
  
And yet ... beautifully formed, as if   
skillfully designed like a tiny china doll,   
specifically created to fit perfectly under   
a man's arm, expressly made to disarm the   
guard of any poor unsuspecting opponent in   
order to accentuate her seemingly innocent,  
youthful vulnerability, and then - to press  
in on the advantage when they're still   
under the illusion. You'll never know what  
hit you. Or even care.   
  
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of midgets   
out there. ]  
  
There's nothing special about her figure -  
all bony knees and pointy elbows, a chest  
flat like the runway of an airport, thin   
and gawky almost to the point of boyish   
callowness ; chastely slender, demurely   
contoured, with no generously porportioned  
curves that might drive a young boy to   
distraction.   
  
And yet ... her skirts, which frequently   
seem shorter than would be properly decent   
for a school girl her age, slyly reveals a   
pair of straight, athletically toned legs   
tapering gently all the gloriously tanned  
length to the tantalizing slimness of her   
waist; narrow curves that seem to have   
been especially conceived to tempt a man,   
inviting him to attempt encircling it with  
his palm.  
  
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of flat-  
chested girls out there. ]  
  
There's nothing special about her skin -  
pale and almost without color, marred by   
the lightest, faintest scattering of tiny,  
almost invisible freckles marching across   
the bridge of her snub little nose.   
  
And yet ... petal-soft like fresh, dewy  
white lilies, smoother than silky satin   
sheets, stained with just the slightest   
tinge of rosy pink, like a wild June rose   
almost in full bloom, and perfumed with   
the clean, fresh smell of peach-scented   
soap. And the freckles are like a   
dusting of chocolate sprinkle-topping on  
cream : delicious.   
  
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of pasty  
faced girls out there. ]   
  
There's nothing special about her hair -  
despite the fact that it's in a completely  
and utterly *okashi* style that I so enjoy   
teasing her about. Ridiculously, uselessly  
long, carelessly tied in two stringy pony-  
tails, pinned up in a pair of Odango   
resembling buns atop her ditzy little   
blonde head. Probably gets caught in   
everything, and gets sat on pretty often.  
How long does she take to wash and dry   
all that hair of hers anyway? No wonder   
the water and electricity bills of Japan  
are at an all-time high.   
  
And yet ... incredibly thick - like shiny,  
glossy streams of flaxen silk, physically   
bound threads of tamed sunlight, fashioned   
for men to bury their greedy fingers into,   
to stroke against softly, to inhale its sweet,   
flowery strawberry-shampoo fragrance.  
  
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of   
blonde bimbos out there. ]  
  
There's nothing special about her eyes -   
Bambi-big and perpetually round, as if she's   
constantly surprised by everything around  
her. Fringed with stubby lashes that flutter  
ludricously like she's in need for respitory  
aid whenever she fixes Motoki with that limpid  
blue puppy-love-stricken, kick-me-if-you-  
still-don't-get-it-obvious gaze.   
  
And yet ... they sometimes shine like the   
brightest pools of sparkling light azure,   
sometimes like misty lakes full of wishing   
stars that I could wish on, sometimes like the  
keen blue skies of crisp, clear autumn mornings  
... but more frequently like flashing sparks   
of burning electric-blue gas fire whenever she  
begins to glare at me.   
  
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of blue  
eyed girls out there. ]  
  
There's nothing special about her voice -  
shrill, sharp and strident. Her raucous,  
boisterous chattering and vociferous   
caterwauling constantly grates on the ear.  
Emergency ambulance sirens are no   
competition for the sheer range and volume  
of her wailing once she gets started.   
Two words : sound pollution.  
  
And yet ... both her laughter and wails are  
equally frank and loud and expressive - the   
sound of someone who wears her heart on a   
sleeve, displays every emotion freely, and   
shares her happiness and grievances equally   
generously. An open book that is both heard   
and seen.  
  
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of loud-  
mouthed chatterboxes out there. ]   
  
There's nothing special about her mouth -   
wide, surprisingly big for a girl her size.  
Or perhaps not, considering the amount of   
physical exercise it gets every day, yakking   
away about the trivial, pettily superficial  
details of her life to her equally carefree   
friends. *smirk* Occasionally it spews forth  
such vicious retorts that I'm shocked she   
still uses those same lips to sleepily kiss   
her mother a drowsy " oyasumi " with every   
night.   
  
And yet ... so beautifully shaped - lips full   
and curved in a natural cupid's bow, pouting  
ever so prettily whenever she doesn't get her  
way - which is rather often actually. Tinted   
a bright, rosy pink, liberally smeared with   
slick strawberry-flavored gloss, as if   
inviting a man to try kissing them, to test   
if they possibly taste quite as good as they  
appear to look.   
  
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of big-  
mouthed girls out there. ]  
  
There's nothing special about her smile -  
bright and sweet, but common like everyday  
sunshine : it occurs so frequently you never  
really notice it anymore.  
  
And yet ...  
her pouting frowns,   
her narrowed eyes and furrowed brows ...   
her flushed, angry cheeks ...   
  
*These* are unusual ...   
different ...   
Special ...   
  
because ...   
she saves them ...   
  
Only For Me ...  
  
( ^ _ ^ )  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
" You look pretty spaced out, Mamoru. What  
are you thinking about? "   
  
I snap out of my reverie of thoughts, turning  
around to gaze into the bright sea-green   
curiosity of Motoki's eyes.  
  
" Thinking about? " I reply nonchalently,  
slowly sipping the last bit of lukewarm   
coffee left in my cup, deliberately   
leaving Motoki in suspense.   
  
The arcade-bells jingle.   
2.50 pm.  
Right on time.   
She walks in, heading for the Sailor V  
game as usual.   
  
I smirk playfully and pay for my coffee,  
tossing a few coins onto the counter as   
I prepare for our daily encounter.   
  
My wait was over.  
  
Turning, I answer Motoki's question.   
  
"Nothing special at all. "   
_____________________________________________  
  
Glossary :   
  
che : a sort of verbal sound, made to   
express disgust, frustration, etc  
okashi : strange, funny, laughable ... you  
get the idea  
oyasumi : good night  
_____________________________________________ 


End file.
